10:10 pm on the bus,
A black turtleneck and trousers take
A seat next to me.
Eyes glued to the window,
A voice inside me whispers,
Don’t look at him.
I hold my bag to my chest.
He asks me where I’m from.
I consider staying silent.
I consider answering.
“I’m American,” I tell him,
“But I’ve lived here for years.”
He tells me he’s from Ecuador,
And in his país he has an American school.
He says he learned some English there;
Some English words dribble out of his mouth.
“You speak very well,” I say.
“Not as good as your Spanish,” he replies.
I smile.
We speak for a few minutes,
And then it’s my stop.
“Nice to meet you,” I say in English.
“Encantado.”